Secrets
by Laure001
Summary: In a land of fairy tales and wonders... Lord Darcy is in love with Elizabeth Bennet, even when all the oracles in the land tell him that he should marry another. But she doesn't want him, and Lord Darcy's love only grows more desperate... (Complete, and now with an alternative ending! I changed the rating to Mature for this part of the story.)
1. Netherfield

The land is beautiful and full of secrets.

Darcy is lord of the mountains in East Necluda. He is an important man, so it is understood he will take an important wife. It will be Fair Maid Caroline, all the oracles agree. Fair Maid Caroline is the sister of one of Darcy's most trusted knights. On every rock, on every hill, the world whispers that Darcy should marry her. Every drifter with the Sight tells Darcy so. Every goddess he prays to, every child gifted with truth. It is written by the Creators.

Lord Darcy is in love with Elizabeth Bennett.

That is his first secret.

Lord Darcy has to protect the land against monsters. They are many, even more since the Calamity, and when you kill them, they turn to ash, but they come back on every blood moon. The moblins, the lizalfos – those dreadful creatures every peasant, every knight had to fight at least once – they die, and then they come back to life.

Lord Darcy organizes hunts and watches and barricades, but still, they come back.

The blood moons are bloody indeed.

But monsters come in many forms, some you might not expect. Lady Georgiana, Darcy's youngest sister, has been seduced by one – a human one, with a face of an angel – George Wickham, Darcy's father own ward. Georgiana was fifteen. If people knew, she would be condemned to death.

It does not matter if it was rape. Not a virgin, but still unmarried – this is the law of the land.

But nobody knows. And he will never tell.

That is Lord Darcy's second secret.

-P-

Everything feels heavy, sometimes. His most trusted knight and best friend, Charles, has to drag Darcy to the Netherfield celebrations. "You have to put your mind on other things than war and death, my Lord," Charles says. "There will be sweet wine and food and fireworks, much rejoicing – and many pretty faces, and round bosoms, I believe."

As Lord Darcy is shadow, Charles is light in every way. Charles's hair is full of sunlight, his laugh is luminous, and the ladies adore him. But Charles's gaze has been arrested lately by a beautiful maid's face, and that is a problem for his lord and liege. Fair Jane is the eldest daughter of one of Darcy's lesser vassals – there is hardly a crown in old Bennett's coffers, they say. Still the maid is very pretty – Charles deserves better, but if the man want to makes a fool of himself, marry the Bennett girl and call that love, good luck to him – Darcy is the master of Charles's sword, not of Charles's heart – and the oracles seem to agree with Charles's choice. When Charles goes on a quest, the quest bringer mentions a beautiful maid's clear eyes and golden hair – of course Charles thinks this describes the lovely Jane. (Privately, Lord Darcy thinks the description could apply to many.)

They go to the Netherfield celebrations.

Charles dances and dances with sweet Jane. The dancing, the buffets, the music, it all happens outside. The evening is so gorgeous that before joining the fray, Lord Darcy stops on top of a green slope and looks – mountains everywhere the eye can see, secret valleys, lavender and green and mist – it is so beautiful that he gets tears in his eyes, and he swears he will defend this land till his last breath.

As is written by the Creators.

The people are merry and the night is long. Lord Darcy dances with Elizabeth Bennett once. Just once. She is perfectly unsuitable. Too poor. No land to speak of, no useful alliances to be had. Well-born maybe – on the side of old Bennett, but her mother's family – better not mention it.

Elizabeth's sisters, also. No.

Oh, Lord Darcy knows his heart is lost. To her. To the second daughter of that sarcastic, difficult, impoverished vassal. But she will not do.

The world is screaming he should marry Fair Maid Caroline, and he will.

(One day.)

Dawn rises and there is still music and dancing, and when the night shifts into a new day, colors melting on the horizon, staining the peaks with crimson and purple, Darcy is again taken by a strong emotion. This is a universe of beauty. They say the Creators are many, they said they made this world stone by stone, crafting each grain of sand, thinking about the role of each strand of grass and each reflection on the sun on the water.

Why they also made the world so cruel is Darcy's question, but he will never have the answer. He has his role in the scheme, and he will play it.

Elizabeth Bennett laughs nearby, she is dancing with a very smitten young squire, she is barefoot in the grass, light and grace in the rising sun, and she is not for him.

-P-

In the early morning, all the noble-born guests find their way on Mount Floria, for the glider show.

It is a splendid spot for flying – so knights and heirs and second and third sons run toward the end of the cliffs and jump into the emptiness, opening their glider at the last moment – and off they go, flying, miles above the valleys and the precipices and cliffs – like birds in the immense sky. Peasants and merchants look at them from below, they do not have gliders, of course – and it is as it should be – their role in the scheme is different.

Soon almost everyone is gone – when you glide for miles, finding your way back can take days. So now there are only eight or twelve guests left, while the sun goes lazily up. Footmen are serving sparkling white wine and honeyed fruits under an apple tree, on an oak table spread with a white cloth. Charles, a glass in hand, is whispering sweet poems in fair Jane's ear.

Elizabeth Bennett – Elizabeth – is looking at the men flying away with such need and wonder in her eyes that Lord Darcy asks, without thinking, "Do you want to try?"

Elizabeth stiffens with surprise, and Darcy almost regrets his offer. It is very improper, of course. Women cannot glide. Only men – noble men – have gliders, magically connected to them. So for a woman to try, she has to fly with a man, and he should hold her tight in the skies, very tight, an arm around the maid's waist, another holding the glider. Rumors has it that the king's daughter tried it in Hyrule's palace, and her aunt too, a duchess, but they are all long dead now, the members of the royal family – killed by the Calamity – except the princess, maybe – legend has it say she is still in the castle, frozen in time, locked in an eternal battle against evil.

Maybe it is true. Darcy does not care so much. With the fall of the kingdom, the realm has burst into a hundred splinters. He has his mountains to protect and his monsters to fight.

Elizabeth Bennett. Watching him. She hesitates. Colors a little. Then she speaks.

"Yes, my lord. I very much would like to try."

Lord Darcy realizes everybody's listening. "Any other lady present wants her turn?" he has to ask, hoping they will refuse.

The guests are silent for a moment, some shocked glances are shared, of course Charles saves everything by saying, "What a splendid idea! You are very right, my lord – certainly the ladies should have their share of the skies too! Is not the sun drawn for all of us? Fair Jane, shall you come into my arms, and shall we fly on to the heavens?"

Fair Jane goes crimson, and politely refuses – she seems tempted, but terrified.

"I would not go for all the crown and jewels of the world!" Fair Maid Caroline screeches. "What a scandalous activity for a genteel born woman!" She glares at Elizabeth Bennett, and if looks could kill, Elizabeth would be reduced to ash, like a moblin. "No lady with dignity – or real birth – would ever dream of entertaining such an idea!"

Fair Maid Caroline is kind of a horrible person, Lord Darcy realizes.

He knows that, of course. He has known his friend's sister for years. But hearing her now, seeing the two maids side by side – Elizabeth with the sarcastic erudite father and the empty coffers, and Fair Maid Caroline, with her studied manners and elegant attire – Darcy wonders why the Creators want to pair him with a woman whose soul is gravel.

Elizabeth Bennett is still unsuitable – no question. But when all the ladies have demurred and Fair Maid Caroline has left in a huff, when even Charles has flown away, Lord Darcy puts his arm around the unsuitable maid's waist and holds her unsuitable body very, very close.

Elizabeth has bound a ribbon around her skirt, so the winds would not blow it up, and she is smiling. "Are you ready?" he asks.

"For truth, my lord I do not know," she says laughingly. "Does not it seem like a perilous idea now, so close to the edge, to jump into the void with only a triangle of cloth to carry you?"

"It does," he answers, laughing too.

"But I certainly want to see the world with wings. How often can you be a bird?"

"You will be today."

They jump.

-P-

When they land they are very, very far from home. It is a long walk back, and it takes two days and one night, on very dangerous ground.

It is not what Darcy had in mind. He just wanted to land on the opposite slope – but the winds caught them – one of those ascendant currents that captures adventurers sometimes, and sweeps them to the top of peaks that they would never have dared to climb, in so high altitudes the air turns to ice, and you die in a few moments. Fortunately this is not the case here – their flight just took them farther north. Not far from Lanayru heights, Lord Darcy assesses, when he climbs on top of a huge, dead tree for orientation. There is a korok stone up the tree. If Darcy picks it up, a forest spirit will appear, but they are strange creatures, and he has no time for them.

Elizabeth lingers behind, on the trail, in her white dress, made for dancing – not to hike on perilous ground. He watches her a while, in silence, from above – she is admiring the new horizons. When he gets back to her, her eyes are shining.

"I have never gone so far from home." She makes a quick, amused curtsy. "My Lord, I thank you."

"For putting you into danger? I think not." He pauses. "Please do not believe that I…"

"Please do not believe that I did that on purpose, to be alone with you, with nefarious intentions," he wants to say, but she does not seem to have the slight suspicion in that direction – her gaze is perfectly friendly and trusting.

"I should have anticipated the currents better," he concludes.

"This is an adventure," Elizabeth comments, looking at the trail before them – the cold breeze bringing pink to her cheeks. "I will astound everybody at home, with tales of our woes and your heroism."

The long hours that follow are not that heroic – they are just exhausting – soon Elizabeth's skirts are brown with mud and dirt. They are attacked twice. Lord Darcy rapidly dispatches the Moblin. When night falls, he has more trouble with the undead – one of them has a bow, and the arrow misses him by a hair. He is generally not that clumsy, but Elizabeth's presence unnerves him. She has found a solid tree branch, and tries to help – it is not very efficient.

When the monsters have turned to dust, they both seat on a log to catch their breath. The moon rises – it is a white one.

"Thank you, my Lord," Elizabeth says – again.

"Please do not thank me, madam. It has the opposite effect – it reminds me it is my fault you are in his position."

"Very well, I will obey my liege's orders," she answers with a hint of a smile. She sighs. "I wish I could wear men pants. And fight. Elegance is not of much use in those circumstances."

"Is it not a privilege ladies have, to be protected?"

"Maybe. Sometimes I wonder…" she begins, but before she elaborates, her breath catches. "Look!"

It's a shrine. They see its orange light beaming uphill; it is hidden in a fold of rock, if the rising dead attack had not led them off the path, they would not have seen it. It is impossible to resist – they have to walk to it – they contemplate the small, closed temple for a while. The shrines are scattered among Hyrule, and their doors will open only for the hero, when he rises – they are remnants from an ancient power, reminders that the world is very, very old, and with many forces as play.

"Beacons," Elizabeth whispers, as though she has followed his thoughts.

He just nods.

They go downhill, and find a stable, with golden light, burning fires, friendly faces, food and beds to rent.

They eat outside, by the flames, a very simple fare. They speak of women wearing men pants and ladies being protected – of the rules of the Creators. Red, tiny insects buzz and a night bird sings faraway.

"The world seems unfair," Lord Darcy states, "it is true." He is thinking of Georgiana, of course. And maybe of Fair Maid Caroline, somewhat. But he chases the image away quickly. "But we have to believe the Creators thought everything for the best."

Elizabeth hesitates. "My father…" she starts slowly, then she looks at Lord Darcy as if she fears he will disapprove of what she will say. He gestures at her to continue. "He studies the, er… the makings of creation, I suppose. He dives into ancient texts, he draws maps, he compares. He is persuaded that… I am afraid I will offend your convictions, my Lord."

"Please continue," he says in a soft voice, with a smile. "You cannot stop now – I am very intrigued."

"My father thinks the Creators are humans, or at least comparable to humans, in the way their mind works. His opinion is that our world is clearly… made, conceptualized with a knowledge of how humanity thinks. The koroks, the shrines, the treasures, the quests. The enigmas, the secrets. They are made to be found."

"And?"

"And, doesn't it mean that the Creators have a human mind, to think like we do?"

Lord Darcy takes his time before answering. Because he wants to ponder the question.

Because he wants the night to last forever.

Soon he will be back to Charles's sister, and endless responsibilities. He won't be free, lost in the wild, with nobody watching him, discussing religious philosophy with the woman he… with a clever and merry maid.

"With all due respect to my most loyal vassal," he finally says, "I do not see why it is important? Even if the creators are… human like, they are so much more powerful than we are, that we can just consider them as Gods."

Amusement dances in Elizabeth's eyes – they both know that Bennett is not "Lord Darcy's most loyal vassal." He is a cranky old man, with a sharp tongue and no money, a misanthrope who likes nothing except his books and his two eldest daughters.

"Oh no," she protests, "the nature of the Creators is very important. Because if they are human like, then they are fallible. And their rules and predictions are not absolute."

It is a radical thought – one Lord Darcy knows Elizabeth would not have uttered if there were witnesses present – it is a fascinating one, in theory at least, and they discuss it till they are so weary there is nothing to do but to say good night and drag themselves in their respective narrow beds in the round common room, where itinerant merchants snore and children cry in their dreams.

He is so in love it hurts.


	2. Hunsford

Morning.

The stable. The mountains. The inn.

Endless horizons.

Lord Darcy and Elizabeth sleep late. Then they make tea by the fire, just outside. Around them travelers get ready to depart. The water boils in the kettle.

Lord Darcy wonders. The Bennett family is not very traditional, but he just spent a day and a night with an unmarried, genteel born woman. A more ambitious father than old Bennett could try to force the union. Of course the rules are more lax now, after the Calamity, and if tongues begin to wag, Darcy could always find witnesses to his and Elizabeth's chaste behavior – in this very stable, for instance. But he does not think it will happen. Old Bennett may be eccentric and somewhat obnoxious, but he is not ambitious, or greedy.

Elizabeth sips her tea. She seems happy.

Lord Darcy cannot picture himself married to Fair Maid Caroline.

He cannot imagine her sipping tea at his side.

-P-

When they come back home the point is moot though – nobody cares about Elizabeth's honor. Because there was a blood moon, and something went very very wrong.

The land is under attack. Lord Darcy's domain, his people, his responsibility. The twin peaks have fallen; hordes of monsters surge inside the natural frontiers of rock, trees and traditions that constitute the realm of men. The Bennett domain – Longbourn Stronghold – is on the path of the creatures, and it is already under siege.

The fortress has to hold. If it falls, everything is lost.

Six hours later Lord Darcy is on site with half of his army; the other half patrols to protect paths and passes; another attack, on the flank and they would be overwhelmed.

Yes. Longbourn has to hold.

-P-

The siege lasts for a hundred days and one, and then some. But on day one hundred and one, Lord Darcy proposes marriage to Elizabeth Bennett in the Hunsford drawing room.

He _has_ to. His misguided passion for this woman has become an obsession he has to get rid of. When you're in the midst of battle and your thoughts turn to her, when you walk on the wall thinking about tactics above a sea of mortal enemies and your mind wanders, when you enter Longbourn's great hall and instead of looking at the hundred dead or dying soldiers lying on the stone floor, your eyes go and search for her, you do not make a good leader of men.

So yes, proposing is the only way Lord Darcy has to regain his sanity. And also – he cannot wed Fair Maid Caroline. Not now, not after those weeks of bravery and bloodshed – not anymore. Can you imagine Caroline – her jewels, feathers and manners – in such a situation? Tending to hurt soldiers. Blood and gore and vomit. Running up and down the stairs of the towers, carrying supplies or water or whatever else is needed on the walls.

Each time Lord Darcy's hungry eyes find Elizabeth (and to his shame it is often) she is acting like the lady of the manor, being in the midst of it all, distributing food, tending to the wounded, directing women and servants so Longbourn fortress runs right, allowing the men to focus on their grim duty. Yes, Elizabeth is directing it all. Maybe that role should have fallen to Fair Jane, as the eldest, but command is not in the character of that sweet creature – Fair Jane does not lack occupation though, she spends her time in the infirmary, or consoling men in their agony – of course the Bennett mother had locked up herself up in her room to wail.

Charles fights like a knight, like a lion. They take turns on the walls. When it is Charles' time to sleep, he goes down to visit Fair Jane, to hold her hand in his, just for a moment – and oh the way she looks at him – Lord Darcy sees Charles steal a kiss once – he averts his eyes – envy is not a pretty feeling.

Another reason for him to offer marriage to Elizabeth, and fast.

-P-

Lord Darcy convokes Elizabeth Bennett in the Hunsford drawing room, turned into a makeshift armory. She arrives with a hurried air, tense and tired, but eager to do what's right. Lord Darcy quickly tells her of his intentions – he is in a hurry as well. They could marry from here, he explains, in Longbourn chapel, he just has to send for his priest, in Pemberley – he'd rather have a more competent minister to bless their union than the old and ragged monk on Bennett land, that pretends to serve Goddess Hylia on the crumbling ruin he calls a temple.

Elizabeth is stunned.

"T-thank you, my Lord," she answers after a short pause. "I… I am honored… obviously…" She seems to hesitate. No, she actually hesitates. "I am sorry," she finally adds. "I do have the greatest admiration and respect for you, but…"

His mind struggles to adjust. "But," she repeats, "we would not suit. You are a very serious man – which does you honor, my Lord – but I… I do not… I do not wish…" Her voice falters.

His turn to be stunned. Then he paces up and down the room, trying to control his irritation, his disbelief. This – this is folly. How can she refuse him? In her position! How – it is all so nonsensical. He tells her so, in a voice that badly controls his anger – that does not control it at all, to be honest. He talks of her father and financial ruin, of Elizabeth's own lack of prospects – he speaks of her ridiculous, farm born mother, of her sisters – the way they dishonor Bennett House each time they open their damn mouths – he speaks of what he sacrifices by proposing to her – what all the oracles say, what the Goddess says – his own family will laugh at him for disgracing himself and stooping so low – Elizabeth is livid.

And soon, furious, too. They fight. It is disgraceful – she flees the room, tears of furor and humiliation in her eyes.

He is left alone.

-P-

He goes back to battle.

He is numb, for days. He kills. He defends, he leads, he harangues – whatever is needed of him. Only a part of his mind is working, but it does the job. Charles comes to him during a gap in the midst of the last assault. Charles has a scar on the left side of his face and his shoulder is bleeding – he seems in a strange state of euphoria. "She said yes," he whispers, eyes shining, joy vibrating, "Fair Jane accepted my offer – we are going to be wed – if we survive the day, that is." Charles laughs – then he takes Lord Darcy in his arms and holds him close – his happiness overflowing, "oh, my friend, my brother, my liege," he whispers, "I wanted you to know –"

Lord Darcy embraces him back. He says what he ought, and the part of him that is not frozen means it. He has been such a fool. How could he think that Charles was not really attached to Fair Jane, when they were dancing together, at the Netherfield celebrations? How could Lord Darcy have misjudged – everything – well at least he did not misjudge the enemy, or the strategy to employ, because after one hundred thirty days and one, at last the monsters are vanquished.

Weeks pass. Dead enemies turn to dust. Dead humans are burnt on large stakes, they are too numerous to bury.

A new blood moon rises, and all the enemies with it, but precautions have been taken. There are new walls, new guards, new patrols, new barriers. Avalanches of rocks are ready to annihilate monsters if they dare enter the passes. Archers with burning arrows mount guard on every bridge. The land is safe, for now.

-P-

That is when Wickham accuses Elizabeth Bennett of being impure.

Wickham announces, for the world to know, that Elizabeth seduced him, laid naked at his side, and committed the sin of flesh. The word of a man is of course stronger than the word of a woman, so Elizabeth is arrested and thrown in a cell.

There will be a trial. If it is established that Wickham tells the truth, Elizabeth will be hanged.

Like Georgiana would be if people knew.

Wickham has played his cards well. For his accusations, he has chosen a day where Lord Darcy is away, in Pemberley castle – if they had met Lord Darcy would have killed him on sight.

And none of this is about Elizabeth, really. This is all about Lord Darcy. Wickham is his oldest friend, his oldest rival, his oldest enemy. Such hatred between the two men, as can only exist between brothers – because maybe Wickham is, as they all whisper, the bastard of Darcy's own father. Anyway – Wickham knows, somehow. He wants to murder the woman who has caught Darcy's heart. For pleasure, for fun. For the thrill of seeing his former childhood companion's face when the maid he cherishes swings dead on a rope, her face blue.

(Maybe Wickham is not aware that Elizabeth rejected Darcy. Maybe he does and does not care.)

It takes four days for Darcy to gallop back to Longbourn. The trial is already underway. Charles has bravely undertaken Elizabeth's defense, swearing on his honor as to his fiancée's sister's purity – ready to challenge Wickham to a duel to the death to prove that truth and the Goddess are on his side… but of course Wickham has vanished.

The trial will go on anyway, without the presence of the accuser. As women, the mother and the sisters cannot bear witness. Old Bennett comes to the bench. To everybody's surprise, his testimony in favor of his daughter is passionate, clever, convincing – but it is really Lord Darcy that saves the day. He walks into the trial room and drops his heavy sword on the judges' table with a metallic clang, and he swears to Elizabeth's chastity. "This is the blade that saved the land," he says. "Do you dare call me a liar, in front of my people?"

The judges do not dare.

-P-

Elizabeth is free, but ugly rumors follow her like shadows. Her conduct must have been at fault, somehow. New stories arise – she being alone in Lord Darcy's sole company, in the mountains, for two days and a night. Maybe Lord Darcy paid the judges. Maybe Wickham was jealous of Elizabeth's favors.

Maybe she laid with both of them.

Lord Darcy orders Wickham's murder. "Slit his throat in the night," he orders, not to Charles – Charles is too honorable for such a task – but to Darcy's cousin, Richard, of House Fitzwilliam. Richard is a knight too, and very loyal, but he has no problem getting his hands dirty.

Richard looks for Wickham himself, but he also whispers to the world of adventurers, brigands and treasures hunters that House Darcy will give two thousands rupees to whomever brings proof of the man's demise. Two possible outcomes. Wickham is killed, or he is so scared that he disappears forever. Both are acceptable.

Elizabeth Bennett stays a month more in Longbourn. She wants to stand at her sister's wedding – despite the gossip, the insults and the cuts – and she does.

Then, when Lord Darcy comes back into town, he hears that one hour after Fair Jane's marriage, Elizabeth went up into her room, put men's pants on, took her father's old travel sword, and left.

-P-

Three years pass.

-P-

When Lord Darcy hears that Elizabeth Bennett is back, Fair Maid Caroline is long gone. After Lord Darcy had taken Elizabeth's side at the trial, after he hardly looked at Caroline for months on end, Charles' sister surprised everybody by brutally announcing she was marrying a rich, old relative from House Elliott. She went to live with the man, his ambers and rubies in a high castle somewhere in Gerudo.

(Lord Darcy felt a great relief, and maybe Charles secretly did too – Fair Maid Caroline was very condescending to Jane.)

Lord Darcy has no reason to visit Longbourn.

He has no reason to visit Elizabeth. He does not know if he has the right. He does not know if he would be welcome.

Later he learns she is not living at home. She arrived in Longbourn indeed, to embrace her father, mother and sisters, she stayed one night in her old room but then left for the top of Mount Boman, where she resides in a very little house – not even a cabin, almost a hut, rumor says – as a sort of hermit. Lord Darcy tries to know more. Elizabeth is not starving, he learns. She has some money, somehow. And her father welcomed her back.

She just wants to be alone.

-P-

Six months pass. Every morning for six months Lord Darcy wants to take his horse and ride to her.

When he finally does, it is not even dawn. Pemberley Great Hall is dark. Lord Darcy goes down in the kitchens to gather some food. He takes money, wakes up his Constable and Charles, telling them that he will be back in a week.

He does not say where he's going.

When he arrives at Mount Boman three days later, afternoon light is turning golden. The sky is crazy blue, and while it should be blazing hot, it is too high for that. The view is spectacular, Necluda Lake to the west – the air is so clear, one can detect the reflection of glittering snow far away. The sight is familiar. Darcy came here, when he was a boy, to glide with his parents, when they were still alive.

Elizabeth comes out of her cabin (not a hut).

"My Lord," she says, very formally, with a bow more than a curtsey, as she is wearing men clothing (linen, ocher and beige), a curtsey would have been out of place.

She does not seem surprised. Like she was waiting for him.

"Am I looking so strange?" she adds with a smile, and he realizes he has been staring at her this whole time.

"Never, madam," he answers. "I was just noticing the changes – how tanned you are – and how thin." He gestures toward the trousers. "And I see that despite all our debates on rules," he adds with amusement, "you succeeded, at last, to wear what you wanted."

"So I did."

He bows. "And here I was thinking that my philosophical arguments had convinced you."

"Does philosophy ever convince anyone?"

"Not even the one speaking it."

Elizabeth laughs. "Oh my! I owe you an apology, my Lord."

"I doubt it," he says, his voice deep. Thinking of all the ways he has injured her, or the way Wickham did, because of him.

Elizabeth's smile grows wider. "But really, I do. I accused you of being too serious, but I realize now how wrong I was. You do have a calm, discreet, flowing sense of irony, which does not lack for charm, I believe."

He cannot answer. He can only stare at her some more.

She gestures toward the grass, and the view.

"I have no food fit for such an exalted guest, but I can offer you hot sweetened wine, fruits, and a seat in the sun."

"And conversation, I hope."

"And conversation," she confirms.

"I do have many things to say to you."

She hesitates.

"So do I," she finally says.

Then she goes to get the wine, and maybe it is his imagination, but she seems a little flustered.


	3. Pemberley

Lord Darcy looks at Elizabeth, sitting on the grass near him. Elizabeth, who left home one day, with nothing but a bag and a sword, who followed the trails, who has seen half the world, and then came back.

"Will you tell me about your travels?" he asks, in a soft voice. "In Longbourn, the rumor is, you did not wish to speak of them."

Elizabeth sips her wine. She looks at him. Her eyes have a strange shine. "I was not sure it would really be of interest."

"It is of interest to me."

She smiles, and she is so beautiful, he cannot stop looking at her. "Do you have a wish to travel, my Lord?" she asks.

"That wish will never come true. When I was away with you three years ago – for merely two days, remember what befell the land then?"

"Catastrophe," Elizabeth answers, with a smile – but it is true.

He shakes his head. "I will have to see the world through your eyes."

"Maybe when you have a son, and he is of age," Elizabeth says, "then you can leave Pemberley to him, and walk north."

He looks at her intently. "Maybe."

She blushes – then closes her eyes for a moment.

"I have seen… horrors and wonders," she breathes at last. "Colors and sights you would not believe. The sea… dark with cold, murderous things hovering. White snow on orange, empty canyons. Yellow earth as far as the eye can see, and the sun rising... Green and green fields lost in the midst, so that it seemed you could wander on them for eternity, and lose yourself, or end up in a universe of dreams. Waves of forests in autumn, when the leaves are on fire, and you think you have never seen such beauty… but death creeps there – Guardians…"

He shivers, thinking of all she had to face. "The realm is infested with enemies. How did you survive?"

Elizabeth laughs. "I almost did not. I ran away, mostly, or stayed hidden. Avoidance was my main strategy. It is a very efficient one, and I highly recommend it. And I avoided other travelers, men especially…"

"I suppose you have no great trust in the male half of the species, after what happened to you."

"You think wrongly, my Lord."

Elizabeth's words are dry, but the way she is looking at him, with meaning, shyness and warmth… Lord Darcy's heart begins to beat faster. She continues, with burning cheeks,

"Please do not misunderstand me – I am not declaring love to you – I am just saying…" She is looking – somewhere, far away. "After Wickham's accusations… I was locked in that dungeon, feeling that the belief I held all my life, that humans were good, or at least that most of them were, was a terrible, misguided lie." Her voice is trembling a little. "All I could see was hate, perjury, irrational cruelty. Then I heard you were coming to the trial, and I thought – of course – he is going to take his revenge. Lord Darcy is going to laugh in my face and weigh on the side of the accuser, as retaliation for my refusal – for what I told him that day..."

He stares at her, bereft of words. The idea never crossed his mind.

"And instead, you came and saved me. You restored my faith in humanity. Maybe you do not realize how great a gift that is, my Lord. How much I thought about it, when I was away."

There is a new silence. Their gazes meet. What she sees in his eyes – she has to avert hers.

He takes a sip of wine. "So you thought of me during your travels."

She gives a tense laugh. "It would have been difficult not to, considering our last two meetings."

The failed proposal, and the trial. Lord Darcy smiles. "At least I know how to make an impression."

"You do." Elizabeth laughs again, and the silence settles. He continues staring at her – now he is not even trying to hide – well, anything.

"Why did you come back?"

She blushes again. "It is a long story."

"A secret?"

"Maybe." There is another, long pause. "But you did not come all the way up here just to hear about my travels, my Lord."

"No."

-P-

They both know what is coming. But Lord Darcy needs another cup of wine first.

-P-

There is not a cloud in the sky. Sometimes a slight breeze ruffles the leaves.

"If we were married," he finally says, in a low voice, "you would live in Pemberley, by my side. Being lady of the castle is hard work. But it is an opportunity to see the good and evil in people, and to try to strike the balance."

He watches the expression on Elizabeth's face. It is as if she, at the same time, is completely unsurprised, and yet, deeply shocked that she was right.

"So that is the task you have assigned to yourself," she states, after some thought. "Trying to spike the balance toward good."

"Of course. Isn't it what all humans try to do?"

She laughs. "No."

There is another pause.

"If you accept my proposal," Lord Darcy explains, "I know I will have won your hand, but not your heart. Not yet. And I will not ask any marital favors before you are ready."

She is very red. "This is generous indeed. But…" She hesitates. "If I may ask... I come with a tarnished reputation – and people now deem me crazy, I suppose. I have no money. And if you do not even ask of me. Forgive my crudeness, but, my Lord, this union... What is in it for you?"

He laughs – it is a little bitter.

"Your presence. Your counsel. Your company. Your conversation, your smile."

"You are paying a heavy price for it."

"It is still too cheap, I assure you."

Her eyes are soft when she looks at him. Lord Darcy continues. "I have no wish for martyrdom. I do hope that you will come to me soon. But I made my choice a long time ago."

Elizabeth sips the wine. She looks at the sky.

"I will be your wife, my Lord."

For a while neither of them move, then he stands up – he jumps on his feet, really – and holds out his hand to her.

"Then, will you come back to Pemberley with me?"

"Tonight?" She asks, laughing.

His smile has never been wider. "Tonight. If that is agreeable to you, of course."

Elizabeth takes his hand, and jumps up, and her eyes shine, and when Lord Darcy is riding back to Pemberley on his proud steed, with his future bride, holding tight, there is no happier man in all the realm of Hyrule.

-P-

The world is beautiful, and full of secrets.

-P-

They are very happy, for the first two years.

They marry on the way, in a small Hylia Temple; their union is blessed by a half blind monk, who does not even recognize his Lord and master.

One of the first things they do when they arrive home is to visit Lady Georgiana, who locked herself in the highest tower of Pemberley castle eight months ago, and will not come out.

Eight months ago is when Georgiana heard the rumor. That Wickham – that the man who raped her – may have been her half brother.

"Dearest," says Lord Darcy, at the door, when Georgiana refuses to see him. "Dearest Georgiana, listen, I beg of you. I am married, and you have a new sister, who longs to embrace you. She has been harmed by Wickham also – not as you have been – but…"

Elizabeth tells her story through the heavy wooden door. Lady Georgiana listens. Then she opens it, and collapses, sobbing, in Elizabeth's arms.

The two women talk and talk. Lord Darcy stands at a slight distance, listening.

"They can _see_ ," Lady Georgiana whispers. "People. Everyone. In Pemberley Hall. One look at me, and they can see what happened…"

"No," Elizabeth states firmly. "They cannot. You know what people can see? Evil, anger and a black heart. Oh, men try to hide it, and they can, as you very well know – they can hide it for a few weeks, a few months maybe, but after a while it shows on their face, like a sickly stain – like they have been touched by the plague. No…People will see what you bear in your heart, dear Georgiana – generosity, love, compassion. Your brother tells me you are the sweetest maid who ever was born…"

Georgiana laughs nervously. "My brother is blind to my faults."

"He is a perfect brother then! I hope he is equally blind to mine."

Lady Georgiana laughs again. But then she grows somber.

"How could Wickham do it," she asks, half in tears. "Brother, did he know?" That he was… That our father… Did Wickham know the truth, about his birth?"

Lord Darcy shakes his head. "I myself cannot know for sure, dear Georgie. With father down and silent in his grave, nothing will ever be certain."

"But Wickham is named George," Lady Georgiana whispers. "Like I am named Georgiana. He had to suspect. Is it not even worse, if he suspected, and did it anyway?"

There is silence again.

"This is a magical world," Elizabeth whispers. "I suppose that because there is a great hero, there must be great evil."

-P-

That first night, Lord Darcy does not come inside Elizabeth's chamber.

 _She will come on her own,_ he thinks. _When she is ready. She will._

-P-

A rich cousin visits Pemberley. He is the son of an Earl. There is a formal dinner in his honor, with more than 250 people in the Great Hall.

The cousin enters the room. He walks to Lord and Lady Darcy's chairs, set on the dais, between the stone pillars. The cousin looks at Elizabeth from head to toe, and says loudly, with great spite, for everyone to hear,

"And here I thought Darcy House was a proud one."

Silence falls.

"It is," Lord Darcy answers, calmly. "We Darcys never associate below our station. My wife held Longbourn Fortress, when we were under siege. She travelled alone to the edge of the world, slayed many enemies, and came back. What has your wife done lately, cousin?"

The cousin's wife is noble-born, and very lazy. She spends a lot of money, and House Matlock is in huge debt.

The cousin dares not say a word after that.

Nobody does.

-P-

That night, their trusted group of friends retire to the music room, where Lady Georgiana plays the harp. Georgiana does not come down to dinners yet, but she joins the family in the evenings – her brother and Elizabeth, Knight Charles and Fair Jane, and now, Cousin Richard, of House Fitzwilliam, recently back from Gerudo desert.

"You are all aware, I hope, that my husband lies with shameful aplomb, and that I did not slay many enemies," Elizabeth protests laughingly. "In truth, I have not even slain one. And I cannot fire an arrow to save my life."

"I did exaggerate somewhat," Lord Darcy says – he seems highly satisfied with himself. "But I always hated that cousin. When he was younger, I threw him in the river."

"You cannot fight, my Lady? I will teach you," Cousin Richard comments, serving himself a glass of liquor. "Did you travel to the edge of the world, though, like says my Lord and Liege?"

Elizabeth nods. "So I did."

"In the north?"

"In the north, near the endless canyon."

"What was the name of that mountain? Nero Hill, was it?"

"You must be mistaken, cousin," says Elizabeth, amused. "It was near Eldin's Flank."

"Oh, in the Rayne Highlands?"

"Nay. Those are really faraway east."

Cousin Richard smiles. "Indeed you are right! I do not know what is the matter with me tonight. The names must have slipped right out of my mind."

"Oh, certainly," Elizabeth says, her amusement growing. "That must be the explanation. You are not testing me for lies, of course."

Cousin Richard silently smiles, and raises his glass in a gallant gesture. He came back from his travels in an excellent mood – as the bearer of good news. He spoke secretly to Lord Darcy, who then spoke to his sister. Georgiana cried for half a day after hearing – well, whatever her brother had to tell her – but the news must have done the young woman some good, because that was when the decision was made to join them in the evenings.

If Richard has blood on his hands that belonged to his Lord's half brother though, it does not seem to wake him up at night – or to disturb his appetite. And when that very night Elizabeth finds herself alone with him for a few moments, Richard gives her a friendly, but powerful, slap on the shoulder.

"You seem like the right gal for my cousin, my Lady. Do not let him become somber again."

"I will not."

"But if you ever break his heart, or even just look at another man," Richard adds, with no trace of mirth in his voice, "then I will have to kill you."

"If you teach me how to fight first," Elizabeth answers in the same tone, "I might be the one who will."

-P-

That night, Elizabeth thanks her husband with a light kiss on the lips. He puts his hands around her waist, and holds her close, but then maybe he feels her reluctance, because nothing more happens.

-P-

Richard teaches Elizabeth to fight. She is not very good at it, but she enjoys herself immensely.

-P-

The tale changes. Wickham, the trial, Elizabeth's two days and night in the mountains in the company of a man, it is all part of a new story now that villagers whisper and children sing.

Now Elizabeth is a beautiful and brave maid, wrongfully accused in an unjust trial – but the Lord of the land sees her woes, saves her, and marries her. It is not far from the truth, except it is told with much more tears and dramatics.

And this is not a tale written by the Creators. It emerges on its own, told by the people.

-P-

"We have got to do something about that beautiful hair," Elizabeth says, caressing Georgiana's unkempt thick chestnut mane one day, in the young lady's room. "So that men come from all over the realm, and court Lord Darcy's sister – you know, that maid, famous for her kindness and her beauty."

"Oh but I can never marry!" Lady Georgiana exclaims. "What would I tell my future husband?"

"The truth. That you were misused by a blackguard, and that it is in no way your fault."

"But if he rejects me, and threatens to tell the story to everybody?"

"My dear Georgiana, a man you choose will never act so dishonorably."

And if he tries to, Elizabeth thinks, Lord Darcy will have him killed before he opens his mouth.

-P-

One night, Lord Darcy tries to kiss his wife. His lips touch hers, but she stammers something, she seems so embarrassed, that he lets her go.

She feels very guilty, and cannot meet his gaze for two weeks.

-P-

So it happens that even if Richard never knows, Elizabeth breaks Lord Darcy's heart – again.

Two years pass, and she does not come to him. She does not really know why. Maybe Wickham cursed her, and she is, after all that happened, scared of men and their lies – although Elizabeth does not think so – but who knows what lurks in the secret recesses of our own minds.

Maybe it is because Elizabeth has seen her parents resent each other for years – _hate_ each other – no, the word is not too strong. Or maybe she is just scared to open her heart, because life as it is now is so warm and serene, like a bright, silent lake under the sun, and she is afraid to skim the water, less she does it wrong and everything turns sour.

She does not see that Lord Darcy's heart is broken. She does not see that he smiles less and less, that he does not look at her like he used to, that when he does, pain flickers.

-P-

Elizabeth travels east, to stand for the marriage of her younger sister, Katherine. When she comes back, Lord Darcy is gone.

There was a quest, they say. Lord Darcy had to go slay a monster on the top of Madorna Mountain, they say.

On every rock, on every hill, the world whispered that he should go. Every drifter with the Sight told him so. Every goddess he prayed to, every child gifted with truth.

The monster is very powerful, they say.

It is unlikely that Lord Darcy will ever come back.

It is the will of the Creators.

 **(To be continued!)**


	4. Snow

Back in Pemberley, Elizabeth waits.

The world sings.

Through troubadours and servants, through soothsayers and priests. The world sings chants of lonely warriors, who meet their fate in solitude. Ballads of friendless heroes, who fight without allies.

The world sings with the voice of the Creators.

Lord Darcy had to go alone, so is their will. In Pemberley, people begin to whisper that their liege might not come back. Knight Charles struggles to be hopeful. "Your husband is strong and brave," he tells Elizabeth, "do not worry," but Elizabeth sees the doubt in his eyes and worries even more.

Cousin Richard does too. A new seer comes to court. His prediction is bleak, so Richard hits him. The seer flees, his nose broken. People are shocked in the Great Hall. Someone protests. Richard almost hits him too.

Fear spreads, and rumors with it. Now there is talk of discord between the Lord and his wife – before he went away. People look at Elizabeth with mistrust. There are whispers that Lord Darcy had taken a mistress. Elizabeth does not believe a word of it, she knows the woman they are talking about, and if this story was a folk song, she would hate her rival, and poison her with flowers or a dress soaked with acid – but these are all stories written by men. Elizabeth does not hate young Marianne. Marianne is an orphan, a frail maid, graceful as a willow – her sister and both her parents died during the siege. Sadness lies in her eyes, but Marianne smiles and sings. Elizabeth knows her husband well enough to know that is why he favored Marianne's company – Elizabeth understands, now that she is back, now that Lord Darcy is gone, that he searched in other women's eyes for the adoration he did not find in hers – and when the seer talks of death (that is before Richard clocks him in front of everybody), it cuts her soul like a blade heated white.

The oracles get worse.

Great warriors fight alone, and die alone, they say. Children sing in choirs about sacrifice. Street poets find words that rhyme with "falling".

The world is screaming that Lord Darcy will die.

Young Marianne grows pale. _Of course she has fallen for my husband_ , Elizabeth thinks, the lord of the land pays you attention – and he is handsome and kind, of course a naive, innocent, lonely maid will lose her heart – Elizabeth thinks she must find a young dashing knight for the girl, and quick, before Marianne loses her bloom and reputation. But for now there is no such man, and Lord Darcy is gone, and there is just dread in both young women's hearts.

News. Bad news. Guardians. They are monsters of steel and electricity, made thousands of years ago when the world was young, by the same power that created the Shrines. That is what stories say at least. It does not make sense to Elizabeth – why would the same humans make things of beauty and things of evil? Most of the Guardians are dead now, metallic carcasses in the grass; children strip them of parts to sell – except some have woken up. They turn hot and red and a very thin beam of red light emerges from their lone eye. They kill you.

And they have been spotted on Madorna Mountain, they say. Where Lord Darcy will meet the monster.

Elizabeth has a very bad night.

-P-

At dawn, she wakes up and braids her hair. She puts on men's trousers, a thick linen shirt, she takes a bow and her father's traveler sword. She summons Richard.

"If Lord Darcy does not come back – if neither of us do – marry Cousin Anne and take Pemberley," she says. "And protect the land."

Anne is of House Darcy, but she is sickly and cross. Richard looks disgusted. "You'd better come back, then, my Lady. Cause those are tough orders to follow." Richard could have married Lady Georgiana – Elizabeth even suspects it might have been Lord Darcy's wishes if no eligible suitor came for his sister. But one did – Lady Georgiana is wed and away. The young man is from a noble line, all raven eyes and golden skin; he ranted and raved when he learned the truth about Wickham, and swore he would bring the villain's head back to his beloved as a betrothal gift – he seemed very disappointed when told that could not be – but it did not stop him from believing his bride the fairest, and he the luckiest man in the world.

And soon Georgiana was gone. Now, Elizabeth thinks, clad in her travel clothes, taking food from the kitchen and money from the coffers, she is the only one that can truly love him – truly love Lord Darcy.

If it is not too late.

-P-

Love is a strange, dangerous word.

-P-

Cousin Richard discreetly walks Elizabeth to one of the soldiers' gates. "Hold the fort," she orders. "Not literally, I hope." Then she sees Richard looking at her – pondering. "Are you going to try and stop me?" she asks.

"I suppose I should," Richard answers. "Lord Darcy would want me to."

"And then what? Lock me in my chambers? The guards would not obey you."

"That is not what halts my hand – I would find a way."

"Every night I thank the Goddess you are on our side," Elizabeth says dryly.

Cousin Richard shakes his head. "I just think that if I was married and gone, I would want my wife to look for me. And if my wife was lost – and it was not Anne – I would go and look for her."

"Then we are in perfect agreement."

"As always."

Elizabeth laughs – she and Richard often disagree – but now she is on the road, and everything and everybody vanishes.

-P-

She walks. The world is green and grey. She thinks of him. (Her husband.) She thinks of the morning she left Longbourn, five years ago now, those same clothes on her back, that same sword in her hand. How her thoughts at the time were polluted by Wickham – it disgusted her – but she also had the recollection of _him_ , of Lord Darcy. The way he proposed, the way he insulted her, the way he saved her. She hated him then – no – she hated his image lingering – she just wanted to be away, and her soul to clear.

-P-

The ground is getting higher.

-P-

Elizabeth remembers her travels – she had nightmares at first. Soldiers dying in her arms in Longbourn Hall, then rising on a blood moon to devour her. Lord Darcy's sword falling on the judges' table, but the judges laughing and sending her screaming to the gallows. But then the nightmares faded. Dream monsters disappeared; real ones were everywhere, and they were enough. She learned to survive.

Years of beauty and fear. Luminous. And empty. (Of people.)

-P-

The massif is huge. Madorna Mountain is there somewhere. Her husband is there somewhere.

(If he is still alive.)

Elizabeth thinks of the Red Dragon at the edge of the world and she wants to cry.

-P-

She finds Lord Darcy the next afternoon, half dead. He hasn't even made it to the west pass. There were three Guardians in the shadows of a rocky path, they began to target him with their beams of red light – at least that is what Elizabeth believes – Darcy must have run and jumped behind the big boulder for protection, hurt his head on the stone, and laid there unconscious, while the Guardians went back to sleep. Elizabeth tries to wake him up, to no avail. She panics. Lord Darcy's heart is beating, and there is no visible injury, except the blood on his forehead, but he will not stir. For a few moments she feels completely empty – as if dread has frozen her spirits. She is not very religious (not at all really) but now she promises the Goddess anything and everything, if her husband just makes it out alive. Somehow that one sided deal with the unknown gets her moving again. He is so very cold. She must get him warm, and out of the Guardians' range.

The sun is setting. She looks around wildly, and she sees it – the Shrine.

Its blue light shines on higher ground – you can only spot it from a certain angle. Why the temple is blue and not orange, as it should be, Elizabeth does not pause to wonder. Lord Darcy is very heavy, but she succeeds to drag him to the trail, and then along it, terrified that Guardians are going to spot her or that she is going to reach the temple only to discover that she has been hauling a dead body, and he expired on the way - she finally reaches the Shrine.

It is blue because it has been _opened_.

For a while, she just stares at it.

The hero has risen.

(Shrines only open for the hero. So the hero has been _here_ , where she stands. He has opened _this_ door, walked on _this stone_.)

It is a miracle. Elizabeth checks her husband's pulse – he is still alive. (Another miracle). She drags him inside the temple, in a huge secret cave of sleek stone and ornamented walls. Lights shine, orange and blue. The place is warm, beautiful – technology or magic beyond her comprehension. Lord Darcy is still breathing. Elizabeth makes a fire – no need really, it is warm enough, but she has to do _something_. She wants to pray again – but cannot – in the abyss of despair her mind did not protest, but now her thoughts are too clear. Lord Darcy is still unconscious, but he needs to drink. To eat. Elizabeth makes strong tea, he swallows some. Elizabeth goes out to look for healing berries – it is snowing – so cold – her husband would be dead from exposure if she had not found him, she thinks.

She succeeds in getting him drink tea again, with honey. The fact that he could swallow is a good sign – it means his spirit works, somehow, right?

There is nothing else to do. She looks around, desperate.

(This is a magical world.)

(Because there is great evil, there must be great hope.)

Elizabeth kisses Lord Darcy's lips. _Wake up_ , she whispers. _Wake up, for me._

-P-

He does the following morning.

-P-

Elizabeth is still asleep, her head on his shoulder, when she feels Lord Darcy moving. When she opens her eyes, he is watching her. Then he is taken by a fit of coughing. Elizabeth jumps to her feet, and heats up the tea. He drinks. He looks at her. They are perfectly silent. He eats, after a while, some of the food she brought.

Time passes.

"You have to leave," he whispers.

-P-

His voice is hoarse and talking is difficult. Elizabeth answers,

"No."

"I still have to fight it," he says – they both know what he is talking about. "And I have to do it alone."

For some reason, the word "alone" almost chokes Elizabeth up. " _Alone_ , you are going to die."

"It is the will of the Creators."

"To _hell_ with them!"

Lord Darcy does not look offended. There is no visible emotion on his face. "I know this is your opinion," he states slowly, "but it is not mine – it should never have been mine. I should have obeyed their call."

Elizabeth just watches him wordlessly – before she understands. "You mean, you should have married Fair Maid Caroline."

"Yes. I followed my heart, but I did not heed yours." Lord Darcy pauses – his throat must hurt – he has to drink more tea. "It was a mistake. I should have taken the path that was written for me."

"No, no…," Elizabeth cries. It is so difficult to say, to explain. "My Lord, I followed you here because I feared for your life, of course. But also – you told me to come to you, when I was ready." Her voice falters. "When I would love you. And I do."

He laughs. "That is a lie."

It is not. When did love begin? Elizabeth does not know. Maybe when she came back and found Lord Darcy gone. Maybe when she saw her fear and affection reflected in young Marianne's eyes – maybe when the seer talked of death, in Pemberley's courtyard. Or maybe months before – and she could not read her own heart then.

Anyway – she will not be discouraged. "When did I ever lie to you, my Lord?"

Lord Darcy does not answer. He stands up, stumbles a little, before regaining his equilibrium. "I am leaving now," he says. "And you, madam, and your falsehoods, are going home."

Elizabeth walks towards him. "You cannot fight, not in your current state, not with Guardians skulking around! Let us go to Pemberley together. You will come back with archers, with knights, with seasoned and valiant men..."

"No. This is a quest. The Creators say that I have to do it alone."

"But you do not understand!" Elizabeth cries. "If I do…" Her voice catches, but she soldiers on, "if I do love you, it means that the Creators were wrong to want you to marry another – it means that you do not have to listen to them – it means that you do not have to fight alone!"

"I perfectly understand," he says, his voice so cold. "I perfectly get your reasons, and that is why you are lying. Because you want to save me. I appreciate the intention… But your lips are still spreading untruths."

Elizabeth is ready to scream, ready to sob. She paces the room, then stops before him – she takes his hands in hers. "Listen," she says.

"No."

She draws closer – and feels his whole body tense. "We did not share a bed," she whispers, "but we shared our days – with conversations and smiles, support and confidence. Long walks, and sunrises on the peaks... Do you really regret it? Regret it all?" He avoids her gaze. "My Lord?"

"No," he admits. "But it does not matter, if I regret it or not. What prevails is, it did not work. We did not have a union of shared feelings."

"We did. We do."

"I do not believe you."

"My beloved," Elizabeth begins, and he snatches his hands away, livid.

"Do not even try."

"Why ever not?" she protests, close to tears. "I have never been in love, before you. These are words I have never uttered before… and you are my husband – why would I not speak them?"

"Shut your lying mouth!"

Lord Darcy takes his coat. He takes his weapons. He takes his bag – he looks at her with something that resembles hatred, then walks away into the snow, the cold, the wind and the enemies.

"Do not follow me, madam. That is an order."

Of course she follows.


	5. The Red Dragon

**This is the last chapter!**

 **Dear Readers, thank you so much for your support, this is such a bizarre story, I didn't think anyone would read it! But it was very dear to my heart - and I just had to write it.** **  
** **(In a few minutes I will add a chapter with some notes about the nature of this story and the "rules" I gave myself while creating this fic. You absolutely do not have to read those notes! Just some meta-rambling you can ignore.)**

 **And now on with the story...**

-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-

The snow is getting worse.

"This is a universe of beauty," Lord Darcy told Elizabeth one day (sunrise on the peaks), well, Elizabeth hates it now. Dying gold and greens of the late afternoon unfurling in the sky, light glittering on black stones, catching in the snowflakes, and she hates it.

This is a universe that kills.

Lord Darcy keeps walking. Elizabeth follows. It is very cold.

An hour passes.

-P-

Two hours. Three. Lord Darcy seems tired. Elizabeth sees it from afar, his exhaustion, how his steps catch sometimes.

He sits on a rock, to rest. She does not dare approach him. He is not looking her way, but he feels her presence, she's sure of it.

Now he is walking again.

Is he thinking of her? Indifference or mayhem?

-P-

A long time passes before Lord Darcy stops for good.

Elizabeth thinks the reason is he has to rest at last, but when she joins him, she understands. The trail stops above a very wide crevasse. The only way to the other side is to glide. Elizabeth has no glider. She cannot follow.

She turns to him – his eyes are already on her – and there is no indifference there – oh no, the universe may be ice, but he is fire. Emotions roaring. Despair, disbelief, hope, fear.

"Do not leave me," Elizabeth breathes.

"I…"

Lord Darcy looks away, gazes at the abyss, stares at her again. Night is falling; the wind is roaring. The undead will rise soon. If Elizabeth stays behind, alone… "You will die," he whispers.

She walks very near to him.

"I never lied to you. And I am not lying now."

He looks at the ravine, at the sky. He opens the glider. He puts his arm around Elizabeth's waist. He whispers,

"Hold tight."

(How often do you see the world with wings?)

They jump.

-P-

It is very cold in the heavens. The currents are crazy, biting winds gnawing at their skin, he holds her so close. She tries to hide her face in his shoulder and then – it's nobody's fault, really – skin against skin, body heat, she raises her head to him – their lips brush – they kiss – it is passionate and brief and extremely impractical, the air hissing, snow gone wild, Lord Darcy is so lost in the moment (and so tired), his arm slips and he almost lets Elizabeth fall – he grips her so tight after that – brutally they land on the other side, rolling in the snow, they find themselves lying on top of each other – so of course he has to kiss her again – "Is it real?" he asks afterwards, his voice is barely a sigh, so uncertain, "Is it true?"

"In my life, I have spoken nothing to you but the truth," she answers, before drawing him to her again, ice melting below her back, rageful flakes on their mouths – this kiss is ferocious also, passion and the last shreds of anger – when they break it off there are but questions and love in his eyes – but then – "you are freezing," he declares.

Elizabeth is shivering. And she knows he is weak still, even if he pretends otherwise. They have to find shelter. So they begin to walk, side by side, against the wind, his hand around her waist, holding her close. So close, actually, that when they find themselves for a few moments under the protection of a rocky wall they began to kiss again, feverishly. They resume their walk – but then they kiss under an old, black tree, then near a half frozen river, under the dubious protection on ancient ruins, and then anywhere, anytime, in the raging storms, his arms clutching her as if to prevent the elements from carrying her away.

Their faces are beginning to turn blue. Elizabeth laughs.

"We really have to get warm."

They find another Shrine.

It is open, again. They both pause when they see it – the Temple's blue light giving winter a phantasmatic hue. Together they are taken by a feeling of unreality – that sensation you have when you look at the stars at night – that the universe is so much complex than you are, or will ever be able to fathom.

-P-

Inside the Shine they begin to kiss again, in the eerie haze, surrounded by strange pillars and incomprehensible mechanisms. The secrets of the place are the most precious treasure the universe has to offer, and neither of them cares. They make a fire again, to feel human in this alien environment, Elizabeth laying the travel blankets on the floor; he divests her of her clothes, and kisses her bare skin – they are on another plane, somewhere where reality has shifted – come morning she is not a maiden anymore (really really not) – but she does not feel physically different.

You listen to old wives' tales, they tell you that this shameful, but mythical, act changes everything. Whatever. Drivel and nonsense. What it changes, though, is Elizabeth's bond with the man who sleeps, naked, in her arms.

She watches him in his slumber. All the little details. His skin, the way his thigh had felt under her touch. His smell, the stubble on his cheeks. She lies down and steps again into a world of dreams, feeling his presence all the while – when she opens her eyes he is awake and observing her.

They lay there, wordlessly, for a time, before he speaks, in a very low voice.

"In truth, I am still not sure why you are here, Elizabeth. But I must be a very selfish man, because in this instant I do not care."

Her eyes shine with amusement. "Oh yes! Your selfishness and cruelty are unparalleled, really, they are the talk of Hyrule. Selfishness is why you are here, in an unforgiving land, ready to give your life for others." She caresses the growing beard on his face – she's never done that to a man before – this is a night and a morning of firsts. "What will it take, my lord, to convince you of my heart?"

"I do not know," he answers, his eyes serious, but then he is stroking her bare shoulders, kissing her lips, her breasts, the crook of her neck, and mirth passes in his smile – "Maybe more of this?"

And there is more of this, much more, because a blizzard rages outside – with savage gales and vicious lightning. It would be too dangerous to venture on open ground, especially with metallic weapons. In Hyrule, lightning hunts travelers who carry metal, striking them where they stand, even If they try to hide the steel inside rolled covers and clothes. This is one of the laws of the world that is learned very young, like keeping monsters' teeth to make elixirs, or not stepping in swallowing mud – and despite her defiance of the Creators, that is not a rule Elizabeth would care to transgress.

So come two days and one night of strange and intimate touches, of orange light flickering on skins, of smiles and joy.

"You, marrying Fair Maid Caroline," Elizabeth teases in a low voice, while they are entangled and resting. (And very sweaty.) "Really. Fair Maid Caroline, at your side, every morning, at every meal – at every waking moment. You would have declared war to all your neighbors, just to get out of the castle. Or you would have asked Richard to throttle her."

"I resent the accusation, madam. I would never have Caroline throttled. I would only have fantasized about it."

Elizabeth refrains a laugh, and rewards him with a kiss. "This is what we should have started with," her husband continues, with such a smile as to make her heart soar. His hands wander in forbidden places, and their lips meet languorously again. "In the mountains, the first time, instead of speaking philosophy, this is what we should have done." Elizabeth turns very red – she is so embarrassed – not for who she is now, but for the maid she was. Lord Darcy sees it and laughs. "Then you would have been forced to marry me."

"Isn't it sad, that you are too honorable for your own good?" Elizabeth closes her eyes and think. "The truth is… after the trial – my travels – and you – I feel like such a different person, that I do not even know the woman I was then."

Lord Darcy watches the bizarre, impossible high ceiling. "I feel the opposite – like I have not changed at all. I am that same man still. Except I did not know how rare happiness was, and how hard it was to reach."

Elizabeth does not answer with words – she has never felt such tenderness, for any other human being, and feels that she never will.

-P-

"I am going to climb that mountain, and confront the monster," he states, the next morning. "As soon as the storm abates."

She was waiting for this. "I know."

"Alone."

"No. With me."

Lord Darcy caresses Elizabeth's cheek, pondering, and she recognizes that look – it is the same Richard had worn, when she stood at Pemberley's door. "Are you thinking of all the ways you could abandon me in this temple?" she asks her husband. "Or how you can tie me up so I would not follow you? Then you would perish – and I would die here."

He does not deny the thought – nor the conclusion.

"My beloved," says he, slowly, "what would be the point of both of us falling?"

"My point is, neither of us has to."

She holds him close and whispers back that same word of love he's just used – he does not answer, but on his countenance she recognizes wonder, and disbelief still.

The cyclops waits on top of Madorna Mountain, as was foretold. What was not foretold is the presence of Guardians. Four of them. They are cyclops too, in another way. Metal cyclops, with their lone eye of horror and death.

On her travels, Elizabeth has seen heaps of human bones blanched by salt and wind. Remains of forgotten battles, where no one has lived to tell the tale.

Guardians are the real monsters.

-P-

Lord Darcy takes his sword in hand. He remembers when Knight Charles kissed Fair Jane, before going to battle, during the siege. How he was jealous then. How he thought he would never have this.

So he kisses his wife now – on the top of the peak – the wind in their hair – the storm has gone, the sky is so damn blue, like a mockery – no snow here, just green grass and vast skies. When Darcy detaches he sees Elizabeth's terror and put a last, light brush on her lips – it is so obviously a farewell that she is ready to break.

"It was all worth it," he whispers.

The battle starts.

-P-

The cyclops sleeps, and Darcy could hit him at least once before the creature wakes up, but of course the heir of Darcy's House would fight chivalrously. So he walks toward the cyclops, stands in front of him, and shouts his challenge. Then only when the monster rise does Lord Darcy raise his sword – and yes. Duel and death.

Except a duel means two adversaries, and the Guardians awaken. Those four are still, locked in place; they cannot walk, as the most ferocious of them do. But they will shoot and kill with red light if a human enters their angle of view. And of course, while fighting the Cyclops and paring and dodging, Darcy will be a target – it is like a horrible, monstrous game. Elizabeth bites her hand not to scream, and then she spots the fifth Guardian.

This one walks, like a giant steel spider. This one Lord Darcy cannot escape. So Elizabeth grabs her bow and runs toward it to catch its attention. She gets it, and the four others as well – soon everything is blood and screaming and red-light beams and rocks and Cyclops; Elizabeth has to hold the Guardians' attention, the only moment she remembers later is when she shoots – her trembling hands on the bow – which does not do wonder for her aim – of course she misses.

The moving Guardian targets her then – no, all of them do, Elizabeth has five red spots on her back as she runs for her life and leaps for cover. But she hears the Cyclops' wails and growls and the noise of the duel; she is earning her husband time; she finds just the right angle behind her boulder and raises her bow again – she shoots.

The arrow goes right into the Guardian's eye.

It explodes and dies.

Somewhere, Lord Darcy's blade strikes too.

The Cyclops falls and transforms to dust, while Lord Darcy turns toward the Guardians. His victory has given him wings of rage – and he smirks as the monsters fall under his sword; there is nothing fair or honorable in the way he fights now, he's just ferocity and steel – and then the enemies are dead, and he is still standing, and he raises his sword as a challenge to the heavens, and laughs.

As an insult to the Creators.

-P-

Elizabeth wants to laugh too – but she is under shock – she just sits down, heavily, on the very green grass, her back on a log.

Lord Darcy is soaked with blood – not his. "I cannot believe I am alive," says he, with a grin of fierceness and pride. "They said I should do it alone, and die; and I did it with you, and lived."

This time Elizabeth laughs. Lord Darcy sits besides her. They both rejoice silently under the blazing sun. All her muscles are trembling, she cannot stir, and she suspects he cannot move either – if even a mere Moblin appears, they will both get slaughtered without being able to raise a finger.

Time passes.

-P-

"I still cannot believe the heavens have not opened to strike me," Lord Darcy says.

Elizabeth smiles. Then she says, slowly, "Laughing alone, dying alone."

He looks at her questioningly.

"That is what the creators foretold, for me," Elizabeth explains, resting her head back on the wood. "You asked why I came back. Do you remember? That afternoon in the mountains, when you asked for my hand?"  
He nods. He is still looking – he thought he would never gaze on her face again, after all.

Elizabeth sighs. "I walked to the edge of the world. Then I followed the great canyon, the one that none can cross. The earth was endless, ochre and red."

She laughs – it sounds fake.

"The oracles had begun six months previous. You know how they work. Every seer I met. Every drifter with the Sight, every child blessed with truth. 'She who laughs alone will die alone,' they said. To me. For me. There was talk of a cave north of Eldin, not far from Death Mountain, where the earth was so hot you could hardly stand – that cave was my destiny – I was supposed to become a sort of hermit, you see. To be visited by others, to give them cynical wisdom and ironical predictions."

"You were to become a seer."

"In a way, yes. A loner, like my father, I thought at the time – yes, he has a wife and five daughters, but still – he spends his life alone. That same fate was in store for me. It was the will of the Creators."

Lord Darcy is still listening. Still watching.

"I tried to reason with myself," Elizabeth says. "This was not such a bad fate after all. The universe knew me well. This was independence of thought; independence from others, this was strength. How many women, shackled to the Wickhams of this world, would envy my position?"

There is a silence. They both listen to the sounds of the mountain.

"Still, bile rose in my throat just thinking about it. The thought of solitude and irony – it made me shiver – so see – that day – I was following the canyon, walking in the heat, with no goal but to avoid my future. I was trying to lose myself, to disappear… Going farther and farther, hoping, I suppose, that I would just cease to be…"

The rustle of the grass. The light buzz of the insects' flight.

"I was so tired. The sun was so hot. I climbed on a peak of rock, and I just laid there, on the stone, and waited to die."

Elizabeth pauses. "My eyes were closed. Maybe I drifted into slumber, I do not know. Suddenly, everything stilled. The universe became perfectly silent. I opened my eyes… and I saw it. The Red Dragon."

Lord Darcy sits up and stares. He is stunned. "That beast… It does not exist. It is a legend."

Elizabeth shakes her head, smiling, her eyes glittering. "No," she whispers. "It is not."

(This is a universe of beauty.)

"It was flying slowly, long and elegant, undulating in the air like a snake of fire. Nothing stirred – not a breeze, not a bird – it was as if the concept of noise had never existed – I was frozen in place and… It passed just over me, so near, if I had raised my hand, I would have touched it…"

Elizabeth sits up to face Lord Darcy, eyes shining still.

"The beast disappeared into the night sky, and I knew. Such beauty, such power, such wonders in the world." She takes her husband's hands in hers, and looks at him in supplication. "I knew I did not want to die. I did not want to be alone. I did not want to live in a cave and be bitter and wise, I wanted to see my friends again, my family, my father, and Jane. I wanted… to love, and be loved."

She holds his hands so tight.

"And then my Lord… I thought of you…" There are tears in her eyes, and now in his, too. "I came back for you. It seems crazy, I know, because I did not love you at the time. But I thought of your bravery, your kindness… your cleverness, your loyalty. And I thought that – yes, I did not love you, but somehow I knew you were the only man I ever could."

He cannot speak. His hands tremble. Their foreheads touch.

She smiles, through her tears.

"I am sorry it has taken so long."

-P-

When they begin the long trek down, on the morrow, they are holding hands – or he has his arm around her waist. He does not need to. The wind has abated, and the air is calm and serene.

They do not talk much.

It is already so astonishing – that they are together, and alive, and in love.

-P-

They cross the southern pass and the world spreads at their feet – the plains, the lake, the barely discernible shape of the Great Plateau, very far away.

"I am so bad at fighting," Elizabeth muses.

Lord Darcy nods. "You are. But on the other hand, you are also reckless and totally unable to estimate true danger. So, you know, that evens out."

They look at each other, laughter in their eyes. "I killed a Guardian," Elizabeth protests, with feigned offense. "Maybe it was pure luck, but still."

"So you did. I suppose I should thank the Goddess for your survival, but…"

He pauses. They walk in silence for some time, deep in thought.

"We cannot tell," Lord Darcy finally adds. "In Pemberley. We cannot say that we both defied the Creators, and lived the better for it."

Elizabeth laughs. "No."

A lot of people are violating the Creators' will, every day, in little things. But they do not make a design of it, or they do not flaunt it – indeed, most of them do not even realize the patterns in their existences. But the Lord and Lady of House Darcy, announcing official disobedience, or at least indifference, to the general beliefs – there would be… no, not a rebellion, but unease. Incomprehension. Mistrust.

Elizabeth ponders. "We have to tell our children, though. We have to teach them to take their own decisions in order to learn to act within reason, and create their own happiness."

"And condemn them to a life of hypocrisy?"

She thinks.

The hero has risen. It is the fight of good against evil. The future is bright and brittle. Shifting.

"Maybe discretion will not be always necessary. Maybe… the world will change. Maybe we can play our part in it."

"But in the meantime, you want us and our children to lie," Lord Darcy says, not really knowing if he is horrified or amused.

"Yes."

-P-

The world is beautiful, and full of secrets.


	6. Fuck the Fairy Tale, Part One

**Dear Readers, this is an alternative ending to "Secrets"... But this is an Elizabeth/Richard Fitzwilliam alternative ending, with an HEA. No, no, WAIT WAIT WAIT! Before you stop reading and close the page angrily, let me say two things:**

 **\- I really loved writing this part, and I'm kind of proud of it, so I hope you give it a chance**

 **\- I am writing a new Elizabeth/Darcy HEA story in this universe, where all the characters are younger - same world, completely different plot. In short, I adore this universe and I cannot seem to let go.**

 **But now, back to Richard and Elizabeth... It will be a two parter.**

 **Warning: Dark themes, and especially dark sexual themes ahead...**

 **& P&**

 **Fairy tale**

« … and it's because you are sweet on Lady Darcy, _Knight_ Richard," grumbled Molly, the kitchen maid, when Richard cancelled for the second time their scheduled meeting near the stable, where Molly generally had her back against the stone, her skirt around her waist and her thighs around Richard's hips. "That is why you are neglecting me."

"Hold your tongue, woman!" Richard was horrified. This was, of course, the most false and ridiculous slander.

"Your lord and cousin's wife – you should be ashamed of yourself", Molly continued bitterly. "Lady Darcy is too good for you. You deserve the likes of me, not the likes of her, I say."

It was a good thing Richard only hit women in the direst of circumstances, or Molly would have resumed her kitchen duties with a black eye.

"I am the son of an Earl", he spat. "You, Molly, are… no one. Nothing. And she – Lady Darcy – with all the respect I have for my liege's wife, she is born only the second daughter of a mere country squire."

"Lady Darcy is educated and refined," Molly said. "And so clever. You… Your own father did not even want you."

So ended the great passion between Knight Richard, of House Fitzwilliam, and Molly the kitchen maid. Let it be known that the story ends well, at least for Molly, because when she went to the Goddess fountain to pray a month after the breakup, she felt refreshed and consoled, and a child ran to her and gave her an apple, and told her, "you will meet happiness in flour and sugar."

Molly knew how to recognize an oracle when she heard one. So when the head cook hired a new pastry chef in Pemberley's kitchens, Molly wore her low cut cotton dress even when it was cold, and bent over the table at just the right moments.

Three months after Molly was married. She was very happy, and ate a lot of cakes.

Richard was not happy.

Molly was lying, of course. A lying liar who lies. Women, and their crazy, silly… repugnant ideas! Of course he was not sweet on Elizabeth – on Lady Darcy – on his lord and liege's wife.

Richard would never dare raise his eyes to her – not because Elizabeth Darcy, née Bennett, was superior to him, in any way; not that he was not worthy of her, what a preposterous thought! Of course he was good enough. No, Richard would never look at Lord Fitzwilliam Darcy's wife because Richard was Fitzwilliam's friend, his trusted vassal, his faithful ally.

Richard loved his cousin. He had always loved Fitzwilliam, since the Earl of Matlock, Richard's father, had sent his second born to Pemberley, at the tender age of eight. The Earl had never liked Richard, on this at least Molly had spoken the truth. Richard never knew why. He only knew his father's kind words were always for Richard's eldest brother, or his sweet baby sister. Richard only got spiteful looks and reproaches, and when an alliance was made for some reason between Darcy's father and the Earl, and Richard was exiled from home and sent to live and serve at Pemberley instead, he was relieved, as young as he was.

Richard remembered when he arrived at Pemberley and saw Fitzwilliam Darcy for the first time. Fitzwilliam was an eleven year old boy, tall and proud, with kind eyes. He had embraced his young cousin and said, very formally, "Richard, I welcome you. We do not know each other, it is true, but I will give you my friendship and my love, if you give me yours."

Richard did.

They grew up together, the four of them… Young Lord Darcy, already serious, already the responsible one, Charles, of House Bingley, with his cheerfulness, his bravery and romantic philosophies, Wickham and his reptilian smiles, and Richard – who kept an eye on Wickham.

Richard was the one to warn Lord Darcy when Wickham plotted to murder him. Darcy and Richard stopped Wickham's attempt to take Pemberley, but then Wickham took his revenge on Georgiana, and they were too late to save the young girl's virtue and peace of mind.

So two years later Richard slit Wickham's throat in a hut in the middle of the Gerudo desert, where the coward had fled.

It was night. The desert was cold. Wickham was sleeping. Richard woke him up, not because he wanted a fair fight – Richard was not the type to take any unnecessary risks, and he did not care about fair play – no, it was so he could look Wickham in the eye while he was holding him down.

" _This_ , is from Lady Georgiana," Richard said, stabbing Wickham in the balls. " _This_ ," he added, stabbing the left thigh and viciously twisting the blade, "is from me. And _this_ ," he concluded, slowly burying his knife in Wickham's throat, "is from Lord Darcy."

Richard slit Wickham's throat, and looked as the villain's blood was leisurely eaten by the sand.

&P&

When Richard came back from the desert, Lord Darcy had wed Elizabeth Bennett, who seemed quite the adventuress, in both sense of the terms.

Elizabeth's past was shady, she had no money, mediocre family connections, and was not even that pretty. At first, Richard wondered if his cousin had been taken in – enchanted maybe – yes, enchantments, they existed, people said, even if Richard had never seen one with his own eyes. He wondered if it would be a good idea to slit Elizabeth's throat too, in her bed, one day, to free his cousin.

But no. Lord and Lady Darcy were happy – seemed so, at least. Lady Elizabeth Darcy was clever, a little too much, for a woman. Richard accompanied her when she walked the mountains' paths – she liked to walk – to protect her, was the official story. The truth was, Richard wanted to see what she was about.

But no, again, there was nothing wrong there – Lady Darcy was loyal – she was kind too, to her husband, to his friends, toward everybody in Pemberley, even the lowest of servant. Richard kept an eye on her still. He taught her to fight. Lady Darcy was definitely not a natural, but Richard liked laughing with her about her mistakes – when the sun would catch in her hair, in the courtyard, it was a pretty sight – and Elizabeth had a way to thank him, after their sessions, with such a radiant smile – they talked a lot, they joked – but there was no ambiguity there – no, not at all.

That was why when Molly said those ugly things, Richard was so mad.

Sure, Richard had conversations with Elizabeth that he could not have with anybody else – with no other woman, at least. That was Elizabeth's father's fault, he had educated her like a man, it was unnatural, Richard thought. Too much knowledge made women's brains a little twisted. But still Richard imagined Elizabeth as a little girl, struggling on ancient texts, and the idea, the image – it made him smile.

But – again – no. Molly was crazy. She was jealous. Of him, and of Lady Darcy's accomplishments. Not Molly's fault; jealousy was in women's blood. They could not help it, as intelligence and humor were men's prerogatives, no blame to the women really, it was just as the Creators had devised humanity.

 **Life**

Then Lord Darcy was told by the Creators to go and fight the monster on Madorna Mountain. He left. Lady Darcy went after him, clad in men's clothes, her traveler sword in hand.

She came back, alone. Richard learned, through her very worried maid, that Elizabeth had dressed herself in black – she had gone in her room, and would not receive anybody.

Richard went in anyway.

"What happened?" he asked, dread in his heart.

"Oh, Richard," Elizabeth whispered – and began to sob. She told him how she had found her husband's dead body on a rocky trail – he had not even made it to the west pass. Lord Darcy had been ambushed by Guardians. "He tried to fight," Elizabeth explained, "He should just have fled, but… There were three of them… and…" Her voice faltered. "When I arrived, his body was already cold."

Richard blanched, his knees went weak, and he had to sit down.

Richard cried later, much later, when there was nobody to see him – men did not cry – but he could not help it, alone in one of the narrow, secondary stairs, surrounded by walls of black stone. Then Richard swore – he swore to himself – he would be loyal still. He could not be loyal to Lord Darcy anymore, but he could be loyal to what Lord Darcy loved the most.

To Pemberley. To the land. To the people.

Richard would protect them.

Elizabeth - Lady Darcy - kept to her room. Richard went to talk to Henry Tilney, Darcy's constable. Together they decided to keep the news of their lord's death under wraps for a while. This was the time for Richard to speak to the people he trusted the most, to surround himself with allies, and get rid of the problematic vassals. He sent some of them away, and even had one of them killed – the man had been an accomplice of Wickham, at the time, but Lord Darcy had refused to punish him because of lack of proof – Richard felt there was proof enough.

After five days, the coast was clear.

Of course Darcy's heir should inherit Pemberley... but there was no heir. Lord Darcy had no children. Lady Georgiana and her new husband had no son, maybe that would change, but waiting was not an option. There was Richard's eldest brother, of course. The first born of the Earl of Matlock. It made Richard sick just thinking about it. His brother with his vanity and his incompetence. He would destroy everything.

No. Richard was the only one able to protect Pemberley. But it would be a coup, so he had to act smart, and fast.

Henry Tilney was a clever man. "You have to take a wife," he told Richard during a discussion in Darcy's study. "A man, alone, who takes control of the land, he's an usurpator. The same man, with a wife – he's a bloodline," Tilney explained. "He will want peace and prosperity – for his children – that is what people will think."

"I am not marrying Anne," Richard protested.

Anne was Darcy's cousin, rich, but sickly and extremely unpleasant.

Tilney laughed. "No. But you have to marry _someone_."

The answer was obvious.

&P&

You know how they say "a flash of realization"? For Richard, it was more of a lightning bolt. A huge flash of white light in his brain. Everything became clear at the same moment, when Tilney pronounced Elizabeth's name.

Of course Richard should wed her.

And of course Molly had been right. Right from the beginning.

Richard was perfectly calm in Tilney's company, inside he was staggered. Later, he sat down in the same black stone, spiral stair. It was a narrow passage that nobody was using anymore, the perfect place to think.

So, he loved her – it all was obvious now - Richard had loved Elizabeth Darcy for months, maybe a year. Maybe even more. In Richard's soul, guilt, fear, ambition, passion. Marrying her was the clever move. It was the right union – it would give Pemberley a sense of continuity, of legitimacy. Richard could even say Lord Darcy ordered the marriage before he left, in case of his death – if Elizabeth supported the lie, nobody would dare doubt it. And – the idea that Richard could hold her, touch her, fuck her. The idea that she would look at him with this light in her eyes, kiss him, laugh with him, for him. The idea that he had those wrong, evil, traitorous thoughts for a long time – that he was betraying his cousin in his heart – unknowingly – what would have had happened, Richard wondered, if Lord Darcy had lived? Maybe Richard would never have realized – maybe it would have stayed a secret even from his own mind.

Burning embers.

Now it was a goddamn fire.

&P&

Richard went directly into Elizabeth's bedroom. He told her about the marriage. She was sitting on the bed, clad in black. Listening.  
When he was finished, she touched her forehead, then rubbed her hands, as if she was cold.

"What are my other options?" she asked.

"You could stay here as a widow, of course. You would be comfortable, respected, but useless. You could also go back to your family. Or live with your sister."

"I could leave again," Elizabeth breathed. "Walk the world."

Richard nodded. "You could." Everything was in suspense. Everything was hanging to her answer. Now that he had seen his life with her – images of the future unrolling when he was sitting on the black stone steps – Richard could not see anything else.

(She is too good for you, Molly had said.)

"But the world is empty," Elizabeth continued. "And I would be useless too." She took her head in her hands, massaged her forehead, again. "Here I could…"

She hesitated. Then she looked directly into Richard's eyes. "If you married me, you would marry a virgin."

"What?"

Elizabeth told him the truth, about the relationship she had with Lord Darcy. How he loved her but she did not – or did, but realized it too late – how she never went to him, in the marital bed. How he died alone before she could pour her heart to him. Before she could make it right. Her voice so tense. Close to tears, all the time, but never giving in.

"You said you would kill me if I ever broke Lord Darcy's heart, Richard," she concluded. "See, you should have."

So that what was on Elizabeth's face, Richard understood. Not only pain, but guilt. Even deeper than his. More acid. Eating her.

"I am not as chivalrous as my cousin," Richard stated. "I would come to your bed."

She laughed. It was bitter. "Knowing you, I never expected otherwise."

"We are in agreement then." Richard looked at her – and he should not have. Because what he was feeling at that moment – raging passion – Elizabeth saw. He perceived the change in her countenance – the realization darting through her with the speed of an arrow. Her astonishment. Her comprehension. Her view of him brutally shifting, like his had an hour ago.

Damn it all. He should not have showed his hand – but it was done.

Richard stood up. He gestured toward the bed. "Shall we seal the deal now?"

Elizabeth turned pale. She hesitated. Then: "Very well."

So she was punishing herself by laying with him. And he was feeling like a traitor and a felon.

What a great couple they would make.

(To be continued!)


	7. Fuck the Fairy Tale, Part Two

**Second and last part of this alternative ending!**

 **The first part of this has generated some, let's say, strong reactions from some of my esteemed readers. It is, indeed, a relatively harsh story - I guess the theme is - with Darcy's death, this world is revealed as it really is: a medieval world, and thus incredibly cruel and violent. Violence from men towards women, from Richard towards Elizabeth, from everyone, towards everyone, really.**

 **And from that depressing stance I try to drag my characters kicking and screaming towards love and redemption. So, thank you to everyone who gave that strange tale a chance!**

 **And now... WARNING: _Dark themes and dark sexual themes ahead!_ And an HEA.**

-P-

The first years were dark. Richard and Elizabeth. Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam. Allies by day, enemies by night. They fought through their embraces. A contest of guilt and dominance. He tied her up, sometimes, so she had to submit – she liked it well enough – enough that she did the same thing to him after – he liked that well enough. He beat her. Not _that_ way, in a sexual way, it was a game, she did it too, trying to hurt him – it could get, yes, very dark.

One night Richard dreamed he killed her, then woke up in tears. Fortunately he was sleeping with his back to her, and she never saw.

There were so many things at play. Punition and destruction. He was a perjurer, sleeping with Lord Darcy's woman. Loving her. And she… Elizabeth was punishing herself too, but also, she still loved _him_ , Richard supposed, she still loved Darcy, she hated that there was another man in her bed, that she accepted it – that she had wanted it. So yes, a twisted game of self-hatred – but of power also.

Elizabeth wanted to have him yield, Richard realized. Not physically, but emotionally. She knew how he felt for her. She wanted control over him – but Richard would not be weak. You let a woman walk all over you – especially _this_ woman – and you are lost.

Harsh, half forgotten forces in the darkness, rolling and writhing inside his soul.

("She's too good for you. You deserve the likes of me, not the likes of her.")

("Your own father did not even want you.")

("Your lord and cousin's wife – you should be ashamed of yourself.")

How Molly had been right, about everything. Well, he'll show her. He would show them all.

Pemberley was flourishing. Sure, Richard's methods were ruthless. The people did not love him like they had loved Lord Darcy, but Richard was acting for the common good. And they loved _her_ – Elizabeth, Lady Fitzwilliam – even if most of them still called her Lady Darcy. There was no ill will there, just habit. It did something to Richard each time, when he heard the name.

But yes – it worked. Elizabeth was kind to everybody. Her charm and smiles, her wit and laughs repaired the damage Richard sometimes did. She talked him down when he was angry, she proposed peaceful and fair solutions when he would have preferred efficiency. And he told her when the compassionate option was the bad option, too, and when you should go for the throat.

They trusted each other - on that at least.

-P-

Things got better.

First, there was a war. Or, to be exact, the beginning of an invasion. Not monsters, humans. A greedy neighbor. Richard stopped _that_ in its tracks with such violence and efficiency that not a man was killed in Pemberley, not a field was burned. Half a day had not gone before the enemies were ambushed by Richard's troops, most of them were massacred, the rest fled.

The last traces of defiance against Richard's rule evaporated. Suddenly Elizabeth was Lady _Fitzwilliam_ at last.

Then, there was a quest. The oracles spoke of a monster on top of Lanayru Peak – a monster that Richard should fight, alone. The world was screaming at him to go. Every drifter with the Sight. Every goddess people prayed to, every child gifted with truth.

It was written by the Creators.

When Richard told Elizabeth, she blanched. They were alone in the study – Darcy's study, now his. (Darcy's wife, now his.)

"I am not going to fight that beast," Richard explained. "Fuck the quest. I am sending thirty men, and archers with crossbows. We will see how the monster fare against oil and fire arrows."

"Good man," Elizabeth whispered.

Then she fell on a chair. Still pale. "Sorry," she breathed. "I thought you would…" She sighed. "I was afraid you would do like _him_ – leave, and never come back – go willingly to the slaughter – it seems I have to sit down for a little while."

White light in Richard's brain, again. Pain and hope. Like a blade heated on a fire, twisting in his soul.

Elizabeth did not notice anything. "Do not judge me on this moment of weakness, Richard," she laughed – still shaken. "I am not going to elegantly faint each time there is bad news. This is a one time show of feminine frailty, I swear."

He just nodded.

-P-

Lady Charlotte Collins had come to visit Pemberley. The two women were alone, in a small room, spinning wool.

"So, you did not tell your first husband you loved him, and regretted it bitterly," Lady Charlotte said to Elizabeth. "And now because of guilt for the first one, you are doing the same thing to the second."

"That... that is a very simplistic explanation," Elizabeth protested, flustered. "That is... That is not what is happening, at all.

"It seems to me exactly like you described," Charlotte said, deftly turning the wheel. Mending, sewing or spinning was what women of all stations in life pretend to do when they want to speak in private, and those two ladies were no exception. Charlotte added, "Lord Darcy would have wanted you to be happy, don't you think?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Maybe not. Maybe he would have preferred me to be faithful to his memory."

"Are not those words just a diplomatic way to say 'my late husband was petty?' Was jealousy and control in Lord Darcy's character?"

"No," Elizabeth answered. "But it is hard to imagine a dying man wishing his wife happiness with his cousin." She turned to her friend, her eyes glittering. "Oh, Charlotte, Lord Darcy died hating me. If I had but seen him alive for a last time… If I had been able to confess my love to him before he disappeared, then..."

"Then what?"

"Then he would not have gone with bitterness in his heart."

"Are you sure he did? When I die, I will not spend my precious last instants rehashing past wrongs. Maybe Lord Darcy's last thought was just 'damn, this Guardian is coming at me really fast.'"

Elizabeth burst into nervous laughter.

"Can you love Lord Richard?" Lady Charlotte asked.

"I admire him. I respect him. I have much tenderness for him, and I cannot imagine my existence if he was gone." Elizabeth paused. "I don't know, Charlotte, is that love?"

"Sounds good enough to me," Lady Collins mused. "Not that I would know, really. I would make a very satisfied widow."

Lady Charlotte always encouraged her husband to go on travels or quests. Sadly for her, Lord Collins had always managed to return.

"What if I bear Richard a son?" Elizabeth whispered.

"Then, it will be cause for celebration, I guess."

"I should have born _Lord Darcy's_ children. We should have loved each other to the end. It would have been…"

"It would have been a fairytale," Charlotte said. "But it did not happen. You think too much, Elizabeth, you always have. This is your life – now, and it is a great one. Why not try living it?"

 **The Beast**

Richard's father fell very ill.

"I postponed the trip as long as I could – but I cannot avoid going now, I suppose," Richard told his wife. "Would you accompany me to Matlock?"

"No," Elizabeth answered distractedly. "I want to visit my sister, Katherine, and I thought – I thought, first I would go on a pilgrimage to Madorna Mountain…"

Madorna mountain was where Lord Darcy had died. The knife twisted in Richard's soul.

Elizabeth threw a glance at him. "With my husband's permission, of course," she added.

"Of course."

His voice was cold. Everything was cold. Richard walked to the window. He looked to the horizon.

"Why do you never speak of love to me?" Elizabeth whispered.

He did not look at her. "Why do you not give yourself to me, completely?"

Amusement danced in his wife's eyes. "Am I not already doing that, four times a week?"

"Not that way."

Elizabeth sat on the bed. "Do you ever think, Richard, that…" She paused. "... that I am the cause of his death? Maybe my blasphemous thoughts caused catastrophe. Maybe Lord Darcy should have followed the will of the Creators. They wanted him to marry Fair Maid Caroline – and mayhap he should have."

Richard shrugged. "I do not care about philosophy; it is for old men with books and nothing to do. What does it matter what bride Darcy chose? He still would have gone to fight the monster. He still would have died. What would that have changed?"

"Well, you would be married to Caroline, for one."

He looked at her. "No," he said. "I would not."

Elizabeth smiled at him – it was a beautiful smile, shy, and true – he had to look away.

"Richard," Elizabeth started again, her voice soft, and he knew – he should not listen – he should flee, or he would grow weak – "I could give myself to you, completely – as you wished – if you…"

"I have to go," he whispered.

And he left.

-P-

Elizabeth hiked all the way to Madorna Mountain, clad in men's clothes, her traveler sword in hand. Then she sat on a rock, along the path where Lord Darcy had died. The sky was very blue. The air was very still. Every tree, every bush was defined by the clear, white light.

Here she had knelt near Lord Darcy's body – exactly there, near the oak tree. There the Guardians were hidden – they were gone now. Only scraps of metal left, in a pond, reflecting the sun.

Elizabeth waited for a voice. For a presence, a message. An anger in the skies, a whisper in the grass. A kiss in the wind.

Instead, you know what she found?

Nothing.

-P-

Matlock was a trap.

The dark, oppressive castle of his childhood was lying in wait, hidden like a beast in the black rocks. Richard found his father in perfect health. The man was aging, of course, more bitter and cutting than ever, meanness burning in his paling, greedy eyes – but he was not dying, not in the slightest.

They had dinner together — Richard, Richard's eldest brother the Viscount, and Richard's father the Earl. But not in Matlock Great Hall, under the huge, cold stones – no. The meal was served on the top of an isolated tower, in a small, dull round room, with a small, dirty window, and only one door.

With them, at the table, the Viscount's wife and an old Monk, servant of Matlock Temple.

Standing near the western wall, twenty heavily armed men, waiting.

A trap.

-P-

The first course was served.

"So, you are named Lord Fitzwilliam now," Richard's elder brother sneered. (So much spite, so much irony.) "Do people believe it, you think?"

So that was the plan, Richard thought with a discreet glance at the armed men. His father and brother would insult him. Provoke him till he would lose his temper and draw his sword – then the soldiers would kill him. Which explained the monk. The man would bear witness, before Goddess Hylia, that Richard attacked first. That he threatened his family – that they had no choice but to strike him down.

And then Richard would be dead, and his brother would inherit everything.

The silence was so deep, you could hear the flies buzzing around the plates of meat.

"I am Lord of Pemberley, so yes, people call me Lord, and believe it," Richard answered calmly, before serving himself some roast. The metal plate on his left, with the potatoes, could serve as a makeshift shield – or maybe he could throw it – and try for the window.

"You cannot appoint yourself Lord," the Earl of Matlock retorted. "It is an inherited title. Reserved for the first born."

"What can I say," Richard replied with a smile, "I am a self-made man."

"You are nothing," his father spat. And suddenly Richard could see it: years going by, his father and his brother stewing in bitterness and feckless rage, in the somber depths of that humid, archaic pit they called a castle. Because Richard had gotten it all: the better domain, the better land, the better wife. And it should not have been his – it should have been his brother's, "You are nothing, Richard," his father repeated, "you are a bastard, no son of mine. You slid out of the trash which grew in the hole between your mother's thighs after she opened her legs wide to strangers. She would fuck anybody, the trull, for a smile and a dime…"

"I wonder why," was Richard's answer. "Such a charming husband that she had."

So it was the Earl of Matlock who almost reached for his sword – but he interrupted his gesture, and threw a glance at the monk, then at the men – interesting, Richard thought. So his father did care about their opinion – he was afraid of what would be said if he slayed his second son in cold blood. Maybe the monk had taken a vow of truth – well Richard would not lose his temper and make it easier for them to murder him.

"But you followed the family example," his father continued. "You married Darcy's slut – the one who had already slept with Wickham. Where is she, by the way? She did not come with you? Where is your whore?"

"That would be me," Elizabeth said.

She entered the room, in formal attire, with an extremely polite smile. She curtseyed to the Earl, to his eldest son, proffered the usual amiable salutations to her sister-in-law. She gave a pleasant nod to the soldiers and bowed respectfully to the monk.

Then she took her place on the chair, at Richard's side.

-P-

"I thought you were to visit your sister," Tilney had said, when Elizabeth arrived at Matlock's stable.

"No, I – I changed my mind – I wanted to come here."

"You should not have… Something is wrong, my Lady," Tilney whispered. "They took Richard upstairs – there were armed men – I could not follow him. Nobody would tell me anything. And the steward I came to negotiate with, he's shifty. Would not look me in the eyes."

"How many men do we have?"

"Three. And I am no warrior."

-P-

"So what does it feel like, marrying the brunt of the litter?" the Earl asked Elizabeth at the dinner table. He nodded toward his first born. "Came to see what a real man looks like?"

"Potatoes, dear?" Richard asked, handing her the plate.

There was a warning in his eyes, but Elizabeth did not need it. She smiled and answered the Earl in her most demure tone.

"I would never dare contradict you, Lord Matlock – fathers know best, of course. But you must be a paragon of virtues, brother," she said, looking at the Viscount, "if you are so superior to Richard. My husband protected the land against the hordes, and against two invasions – he fought his enemies, sword in hand, and defeated them with cunning and bravery. Our fields are golden with wheat, our coffers fuller with each year that passes. My husband is fiercely loyal, and so clever – highly regarded everywhere as one of the best Lords and Masters that can be – but surely," Elizabeth concluded, looking at the Earl again, "your eldest son must have all those qualities, and more."

Matlock was in debt, the land falling in disarray. Richard's brother had never seen in a battlefield in his life.

There was a silence.

Elizabeth took Richard's hand discreetly under the table. He held it tight – very tight – for a few moments, before letting it go.

Near the wall, the soldiers were listening intently.

Richard raised his glass and smiled to his wife. "How nice of you, dearest, to hold me in such a high opinion, I have been very lucky, it is true."

"And fate is smiling on you still," Elizabeth said, touching her belly with a reverent expression. "For I am now with child, and the Seer said I was bearing a son and an heir."

Knowing how much Elizabeth despised seers, it was difficult for Richard not to smirk – he avoided doing so by taking a sip of wine.

"I feel so blessed," Elizabeth continued, her voice milk and honey, before turning to the monk. "May I have Hylia's blessing and the protection of the Goddess, O anointed one, for my child and family?"

The monk raised his hands and pronounced the necessary words. The Earl's anger was mounting, and they both saw the moment where he was ready to shout orders – but Richard was faster. Suddenly he was standing, showing his bare hands to the Earl, then to the men.

"It is easy to murder an unarmed man at the dinner table, is it not, father? But is it so easy when the man is your own son – despite the lies that you are spouting – and when that man is here with his wife, heavy with your own grandson, under the eye of the Goddess? But I have known these men as a child," he said, turning to the soldiers, "and they are brave and loyal – they will not murder your guest, your son, to satisfy your own greed – they will not stain their hands with the blood of the innocent – to incur the Creators' wrath, and the scorn of fellowmen for their treachery – they have a heart – they have honor – even if you do not."

There was, again, silence. Richard stifled a yawn.

"And on these words, I am tired from my travels, and I am sure my wife is too. Shall we retire, my dear?"

Elizabeth nodded – Richard grabbed her hand again; they exited the room and walked briskly in the darkening halls.

"We have to leave this place," Elizabeth whispered.

"Fuck yeah."

-P-

Half an hour later the two of them were out in the night, striding north, crossing muddy fields in the darkness – Tilney had taken Richard's horse and traded his clothes with him, before going another way with the men. Richard hoped they would not be pursued, not now, not after such a speech, in front of witnesses – but better safe than sorry.

They climbed the green slopes of the eastern peak hills, then went higher, and higher, in the open air, under the open sky, each step taking them nearer to Pemberley, and farther and farther from the beast – from the bounds of childhood and horror.

"Monsters," whispered Elizabeth, with a glance back in the direction of Matlock – of the Great Hall, of the dining room, of the tower.

"Yes," Richard said, simply.

Maybe it was a fairy tale after all.

-P-

Later they sat on a flat grey rock, side by side, to watch the breaking of the dawn.

"Do you think it is true?" Elizabeth asked. "What the Earl said about you – about your mother?"

Richard shook his head.

"I do not know. And chances are, I never will." Vulnerability in his voice. "Does it matter?"

Elizabeth answered softly. "I see only happy alternatives. If you are his son, then you are noble born. If you are not, then that man's blood does not run in your veins… and that can be only cause for joy."

Her husband smirked - he was tense still - but later, thinking about it, he would only feel free, as if a great weight had been lifted. Elizabeth closed her eyes for a fleeting second, breathing deeply – feeling the rays of the rising sun, listening to the cries of the blackbirds above the waves of autumn leaves. Gold and crisp and crimson – it was a universe of beauty – because Lord Darcy had loved it so, she had for years, made herself blind to its splendor – as each glance at the open skies had reminded her of him. But it was over – now she allowed herself to feel again.

"Are you really with child?" Richard asked.

"No," Elizabeth laughed. "Or – maybe. Who knows? But I will be soon, I hope."

They traversed high pastures at a more leisurely pace – they were safe now, or as much as they could ever be. Richard still held her hand. Hours later, they arrived at the top of the mount and stopped, Pemberley at their feet.

Richard turned to Elizabeth.

"If you give yourself to me," he whispered, "you cannot take it back. You cannot change your mind in a day, in a week, in a year. You cannot… betray me, like…" His voice faltered.

"If I give you my faith and my heart," she whispered, looking at him, her hands slightly trembling, "I will always be true."

His eyes were glistening when he kissed her – on top of the hill – standing tall and proud, Elizabeth's hair flowing in the wind – and no fairy tale kiss would ever equal that one, for the two of them at least. "I love you," he breathed – it was barely a whisper – then they held so tight - later they turned to watch the view unfolding at their feet, Pemberley's castle in all its strength and majesty - the fields and farms glowing in the new day, the heavy fruits hanging in the orchards, the stone bridges – the well maintained roads, the watchtowers and the sturdy walls, people preparing peacefully for a new day's work.

"You did good," Elizabeth said in a low voice. "You did right."

Then she added, "You did right by him."

Richard just nodded.

"I know."


End file.
